“The FBI is holding him now,” said Benjamin. “Or they will be, back in 2000.” He was having a hard time figuring out how to talk about a reality he didn’t understand, where time didn’t seem to exist in its ordinary sense. But he pressed on, clutching tightly to what he could make sense of. “I suspect they’re going to put him in witness protection, because he knows too much about GLARE. He’s going to get away with your murder, Jessica. Unless you help me. If you really are my daughter, and if you really know everything you seem to know, then you can help me find Cameron Payne and bring him to justice. We can stop Glazier together.”
Jessica shook her head. “No, Dad. That isn’t going to happen. I’m not here to help you solve a mystery. I only came to tell you to let go. Stop fighting.”
“At least tell me what’s going on,” Benjamin pleaded. “What is all this? Was Sunnyview of the year 2000 an illusion? Or is this the illusion? Am I still in the year 2000, but imagining that it’s fifty years earlier?”
Jessica sighed. “You think I’m keeping something from you, not telling you what’s really going on. But I’ve been trying to tell you. You’ve been experiencing Sunnyview in 2000. Currently you’re experiencing Sunnyview in 1950. Neither of them is real. Neither of them is an illusion. They’re just perceptions.
“I don’t accept that,” said Benjamin. “I am somewhere right now. I exist in a particular time. What I’m asking you is: what is the actual date, where I am, right now?”
“Where you are depends on who you are, Dad.”
“You know who I am,” he said.
“Yes, but do you know?” she asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Benjamin said. “I’m Benjamin Stone. Fifty-eight years old. Retired police detective from Portland.”
“In that case,” said Jessica, “you’re in Sunnyview in the year 2000. All of what you’re currently experiencing is a hallucination. And you’re going to want to ignore this.” She raised her hand as if to indicate something to her right. Benjamin looked in that direction, but saw nothing.
“Ignore what?” Benjamin asked. Was this another diversion? But then he saw it: something moving among the trees in the distance. No, not something. Someone.
Felipe. The young boy from his dream, running in through the orchard on a path that would take him past Felipe and Jessica. He was nearing them, and soon would pass within five rows of Benjamin. If he was going to catch Felipe, this was his chance.
But the boy was a hallucination. He wasn’t real. Even Jessica said so.
But then she wasn’t real either.
He was clearly losing his mind. Maybe he’d already lost it. He could no longer tell what was real and what was an illusion. Was he imagining that he was in the middle of an orchard, or had he been imagining Sunnyview of the year 2000? Or were both of them illusions? If he followed Felipe now, what would happen? Would Felipe finally lead him to the answers he sought, or would he plunge even deeper into madness? Was there a difference?
He wanted to ask Jessica, but there was no time. And he knew what she would say: the boy wasn’t real. Ignore him. Let go. But what did that mean? Remain in the orchard forever, never knowing what was real? No, he couldn’t do that. If he had a chance to know the truth, he had to take it, even if it meant embracing his insanity.
Benjamin turned and ran after the boy, knowing that he’d never see Jessica again. Whether or not she was real in any sense, he couldn’t do what she asked of him. He couldn’t let it go. Not yet. Not while there were still answers to be found. Not while there was a chance to bring Jessica’s killer to justice.
The boy ran toward the creek, and Benjamin followed, making sure to keep him in view. Benjamin’s chest burned, but he pressed on. The boy splashed through the creek and continued to the other side. Benjamin ran to the creek edge and leaped over it, landing awkwardly but managing to keep his footing. It was just like the dream.
He slowly gained on the boy, and didn’t waste time yelling at him to stop. When Benjamin was nearly on him, he dove forward, throwing his arms around Felipe’s ankles. Felipe yelped, falling hard to the ground. His joints aching from the impact, Benjamin forced himself to scrabble forward, keeping Felipe pinned. Gripping the boy’s shoulder, Benjamin took his knees off his back and turned him over. Looking at the boy’s face, there was no doubt: it was a younger version of the man he’d met at Lucia’s house—and met on the street before that. His dark hair was matted with sweat, and his chest heaved as he gasped for air. He looked frightened, but not surprised. He knew that Benjamin was going to get the truth out of him eventually, in some iteration of the dream. Or whatever this was.
“What is happening?” Benjamin gasped, sweat dripping from his chin onto Felipe’s pajamas. “What is all this?”
“You shouldn’t be here,” the boy replied. “I have to go back. You don’t. Get out of here, while you can.”
“No!” Benjamin growled. “I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers. What is that place? The castle. Why are you going there?”
“It’s not… a castle,” Felipe said, still breathing heavily.
Not in the mood for more semantic games, Benjamin motioned toward the dark castle that he knew loomed to the west, ready to snap at Felipe. But as Benjamin looked at it, his perspective shifted. The sun had disappeared behind the edifice, and what he had seen as a black fortress silhouetted against the sky was now taking on new detail. It wasn’t a castle at all, just a large and rather mundane-looking building. Only the sheet metal letters affixed to the top of the building were foreboding. They read:
Sand Hill Children’s Hospital
This is where Felipe had been leading him all along. And not just Felipe. Everything had been leading him to this place, at this time. Even Spiegel’s impossible car accident. The building didn’t exist in 2000, which meant he was experiencing Sunnyview of the past. This is where GLARE evaluated Sunnyview’s children, using their visions for gathering intelligence about future threats to national security.
“Why are you going back?” asked Benjamin. “After what they did to you?”
“I don’t have a choice,” said Felipe. “They always pull me back. But you need to go. You don’t belong here.” Felipe sat up, and Benjamin didn’t restrain him. He no longer seemed interested in running.
“Where is here?” Benjamin asked. “Where am I? Is this 1950, or 2000?”
“You’re in between,” said Felipe, futilely brushing at the splotches of dirt on his pajamas. “You can’t stay here. You have to go back.”
Benjamin got to his feet, staring at the building just beyond the end of the orchard. “I told you, I’m not leaving until I know what’s going on.”
“If you stay, it will be too late. You’ll never be able to go back.”
“Why not?” asked Benjamin.
“Because,” said Felipe in frustration, “this is all in your imagination. It’s not real. If you stay, you’ll be lost. You’ll never find your way back.”
“I don’t care about going back,” said Benjamin. “I care about stopping GLARE. And putting the men who killed my daughter in prison.”
“You can’t do both,” said Felipe. “If you stay here, you can’t do anything about the men who killed Jessica.”
So Felipe knew about Jessica. He knew everything. Benjamin had been right: Felipe was the key.
“But then I’ll never know the truth,” said Benjamin. “Is that right? I’ll never know what all this is? What’s really happening? And GLARE will never stop.”
“You’ve done what you could,” said Felipe. “The truth is coming out. The truth of what GLARE has been doing for fifty years.”
Benjamin stared at Felipe. The way he talked, it was hard to believe he was an eight-year-old boy. It was a bizarre inversion of Benjamin’s experience with the seemingly infantile middle-aged Felipe.
“So they get to keep doing this for fifty years? Poisoning the water? Experimenting on kids? I don’t accept that. If this really is 1950, then
we can shut them down. Now, before they hurt more kids.”
“Lots of people will try to shut them down,” said Felipe. “People more powerful than you. A lot of them will get killed. No one will listen to you. GLARE is too big. They’re too strong. I will try to stop them, but you have to go. Now, before it’s too late.”
But Benjamin had made up his mind. “No,” he said. “I need to know. And if there’s a chance I can stop them, I need to try.”
“Even if you have to go in there?” asked Felipe, indicating the hospital.
“Why do I have to go in there?” asked Benjamin. “Why don’t you just tell me the truth?”
“Because we’re out of time,” said Felipe. “I’m sorry. I tried to warn you.”
“Felipe!” said a voice from the orchard behind them. Benjamin spun to face the voice. It was two men, dressed in orderly uniforms bearing the initials SHCH.
“We’ve been looking for you, Felipe,” said one of the men. “It’s time to come back.” Oddly, the man seemed to be talking to Benjamin.
“I’m not…” Benjamin started, and turned to look at Felipe. But Felipe was gone. Vanished, like the vision he was.
The men approached him. He saw that one of them had a syringe. Alright, thought Benjamin. I’m old, but I think I can still fight off two pudgy hospital orderlies. But as the men approached, they seemed to be growing larger, and soon they were towering over him. Baffled, Benjamin swung at one, but his fist thudded into the man’s gut with little effect. Huge, soft hands gripped his wrists, and a wasp stung his arm. Everything went black.
Chapter Twenty-five
Benjamin awoke in a room lit only by gray light filtering through a barred window of frosted glass. Sitting up, he determined it was a hospital room—sparsely furnished, with no television, and painted pale institutional green. He wore only gray cotton pajamas.
It was impossible to tell where he was, or when. The décor of the room was minimal and might have dated from the 1950s, but that didn’t mean much. The room seemed to lack overhead lighting; the only light source other than the window was a small incandescent lamp on a nightstand next to the bed. There was a small bathroom adjoined to the room.
Benjamin slid out of bed, feeling the cool tile on the bottom of his feet. Next to the bed rested a pair of sandals, and he slid them on his feet. He walked to the window, but the frosted glass made it impossible to see anything but indistinct greenish and bluish blobs. He heard the door to the room open behind him, and he turned.
A middle-aged woman in an old-fashioned nurse’s outfit stood in the doorway. She glanced at a clipboard. “Benjamin?” she asked.
Benjamin didn’t reply.
“The doctor is ready to see you now.”
“Where am I?” asked Benjamin.
“You’re in a hospital.”
“What hospital?” he asked. He resisted the urge to ask what year it was.
“Please, Benjamin,” the woman said. “The doctor is waiting.” She stood waiting for Benjamin to walk past her into the hallway. After a moment, he did. Probably better to follow the path of least resistance until he understood better what was happening.
The woman led him down the hall to a door bearing a placard that read DR. ADAM HOLST. She opened the door into a small but well-appointed office. A slightly built man who seemed to be in his mid-thirties sat behind a wooden desk. On the desk were several books and a writing pad, but no computer or other electronic devices. On the other side of the desk were two dark green leather chairs.
Benjamin stepped inside, followed by the woman. She stepped past him, handing the clipboard to the man. He glanced at it, nodded, and motioned at one of the chairs. “Please,” he said. “Take a seat.”
The woman turned, closing the door behind her. Benjamin sat.
“How are you this morning, Benjamin?” asked the man.
“Honestly, Doctor?” said Benjamin, “I’m a bit confused.”
“Perhaps I can help with that,” replied the doctor. “Do you remember me?”
“No,” said Benjamin.
“My name is Doctor Holst. I work here at the hospital.”
“Sand Hill Children’s Hospital?”
“Yes,” said Dr. Holst, seeming a bit surprised. “That’s correct.”
“Why am I in a children’s hospital?”
“You’re a… special case,” said Dr. Holst. “We work mostly with children, but we focus on psychological disorders. You are sick, Benjamin. We’ve been trying to make you well.”
“What’s the date?” Benjamin asked.
“June fourteen, 1950,” said Dr. Holst. It was the same date Jessica had given him.
“How long have I been here?”
“Nearly a week,” said Dr. Holst. “You and I have talked every day since you arrived. You have no memory of this?”
“No,” said Benjamin.
“But you know the name of this place.”
“I… dreamed about it,” said Benjamin. If Holst was to be believed, the whole time he thought he had been in Sunnyview, he’d actually been in a mental hospital.
“Yes,” said Dr. Holst. “We’ve been talking about your dreams. Did you have the dream again, about your daughter?”
“My daughter,” Benjamin echoed. It seemed like years since he had found her body in the creek. But it hadn’t been a dream. Had it? He was no longer sure what was real and what was illusion. If he really was in a mental institution in 1950, then he couldn’t have seen his daughter dead in 2000. “They killed her,” he said.
“Who killed her?”
“Cameron Payne and William Glazier.”
Dr. Holst nodded, and jotted something in a notepad. “Yes,” he said. “You’ve mentioned them before. This Glazier, he is some sort of business magnate?”
“I don’t understand what’s happening to me,” said Benjamin. “I was born in 1942. How can it be 1950 now? I saw my daughter dead in the year 2000.”
“You’re going to experience some temporal dissonance for a while,” said Dr. Holst. “I can help you through it, but you have to trust me.”
“Help me through it how? I’m half-expecting to wake up any minute back in the year 2000.”
“You’re awake now, Benjamin,” said Dr. Holst. “But I understand your confusion. If you can tell me exactly what you’ve experienced over the past few days, I can help you separate what is real from your delusions.”
“Just tell me whether my daughter is dead,” said Benjamin.
Dr. Holst regarded him stolidly for a moment. “I’m afraid Jessica is gone, yes.”
“But how?” Benjamin asked. “If she died in 2000, and it’s 1950 now…?”
“That’s one of the things I’m hoping to help you understand,” said Dr. Holst. “Shortly before you were brought here, you had a psychotic break. You’ve been experiencing extended delusional episodes since then. I’ve been doing my best to help you separate reality from fantasy. But if I’m going to do that, I need you to explain to me everything you’ve experienced over the past few days. Do you understand?”
Benjamin nodded. He understood what Dr. Holst was saying, and no doubt it was at least partly true. At least some of what Benjamin had been experiencing recently was delusion. But what parts were real, and what was illusory? And could he trust Dr. Holst to help him determine which was which?
“Are you saying that everything I’ve experienced recently was only a dream?”
“The dreams began before your break,” said Dr. Holst. “Before you were brought here for treatment. They became increasingly vivid and intense, and since arriving here you’ve experienced several waking visions as well. At this point, it seems that you are no longer retaining any memories of your waking life. The dream is all that exists for you. You don’t remember our sessions, for example, and you seem to have no memory of being in this hospital. But your unconscious mind is aware of this place, and it seems to have crept into your dreams. That’s a positive sign. It gives us a bridge to connect the drea
m and reality.”
Benjamin couldn’t deny the logic. He wasn’t entirely certain he wasn’t dreaming right now, but the hospital was a constant. It existed both in the present and in what Holst claimed was a dream. Presumably that meant that it, at least, was real. What other commonalities were there to be grasped?
“Tell me about this William Glazier,” said Dr. Holst. “He seems to be an important figure in the dream.”
“I met him once when I was a child,” said Benjamin. “He bought my father’s land. He’s something of a legend. Invented the semiconductor. He also… that is, in the dream, he was involved in the work of this hospital.” He found himself adopting Dr. Holst’s language, even though he didn’t really believe his memories of Glazier were dreams.
“Really,” said Dr. Holst. “That’s quite interesting.”
“Because Glazier is real as well,” said Benjamin.
“The chairman of this hospital’s board of directors is a man named David Stockton, but he shares some traits with your William Glazier. Your unconscious mind seems to have seized upon your anxiousness about being in this hospital and projected that anxiousness onto this fictional character, William Glazier. Your mind created a villainous version of Mr. Stockton, who is responsible for the death of your daughter.”
“You’re saying Glazier didn’t kill Jessica.”
“As far as I know, William Glazier doesn’t exist. David Stockton does, but it’s highly unlikely he murdered your daughter.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think he did?”
“Jessica uncovered evidence of a conspiracy Glazier was involved in. A secret, government-backed program.”
“What sort of program?”
Benjamin regarded Dr. Holst, uncertain how much to tell him. Was GLARE real? If it was, then Dr. Holst was likely part of it. If it wasn’t, then it was a key element in his delusion. “Precognition,” said Benjamin. “They were experimenting on children in an attempt to predict future events.”
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